


Out on My Own Terms

by Raisans_Grapeon



Series: Letters Left on your Desk [7]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Feelings, Friendship, Happy Ending?, Light Angst, Minor Violence, Murder, Past Character Death, Regret, Ricky Goldsworth Cares, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 19:47:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19708195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raisans_Grapeon/pseuds/Raisans_Grapeon
Summary: If this was when Ricky was going out, he was going out on his own terms.Should really at least read Deciphered before this.





	Out on My Own Terms

**Author's Note:**

> What no one has been waiting for, this!
> 
> Hello and welcome back everyone who happened upon this for the first time and those who have been following my charming little story so far!
> 
> A few notes: It is STRONGLY SUGGESTED that you read the second story in this series, Deciphered, before reading this. It gives some more context to what is going on here. It would be nice if you read everything else too but if you were looking for minimal reading material with this one-shot, Deciphered then this is strongly suggested.
> 
> Second, I, as I say every time, am not professional and am not taking any writing classes whatsoever. That being said, I want to improve, so please, criticism is encouraged!
> 
> Thank you and enjoy!

“RICHARD GOLDSWORTH! COME OUT OR WE WILL BE FORCED TO GO IN AFTER YOU.” 

The loud, authoritative voice blared through the night. Sirens accompanied it followed by chattering between cops. If Ricky knew the police, they were about halfway done with surrounding the warehouse, and have already blockaded the streets. The inner depths of the rundown, abandoned storage building, the well-groomed silhouette of the infamous serial killer leaned against a wide grey pillar as he assessed his situation. Through the thin sets of windows that were set high above the main floor, alternating hues of red and blue barely filtered through the incessant yellowed light of nightlife. The vaulted ceilings stretched into darkness, the night sky above blending in well with the rest of the dilapidated building. The vast speckling of columns could only provide stealth and cover for so long, and time was wearing thin.

Ricky had his prized knife out, turning the edge over and over again as his mind worked tirelessly to try to find some way out. He had escape routes, but the police force closed in quicker than the criminal had anticipated, unused to seeing the department pull their collective shit together long enough to be efficient. Ricky found it to be a marvel as to how their crummy detectives even found him out in the first place without Tinsley’s aid.

He stopped twisting the knife. His body sagged slightly against the concrete as Ricky bit his tongue in frustration. He was so pissed. Pissed at Tinsley, pissed at the police, pissed at this place, pissed at himself. Above all, he was pissed at himself. There was something terribly wrong, in a way the killer couldn’t ever place. He had just been sitting in his hideout for weeks, living off of provisions he had stocked up. Everything changed around him and he didn’t know what it was. He just knew it was because of C.C. Tinsley. The bastard did something that made Ricky lose… whatever he had lost to set up his final act. It had to have been Tinsley. Ricky lost because he didn’t keep tabs on the police when the police found out his location. He wasn’t keeping tabs because he was in his warehouse, just sitting, stewing in something he didn’t understand. He only stewed after he killed Tinsley. 

It was all Tinsley’s fault.

The fucker did this to him.

What was even happening?

Tinsley would know.

Ricky gripped and pulled at his hair, growling lowly. It all circled back to the damned detective who thought so highly of himself for helping people. Nothing about his situation made sense to the jaded criminal. Out of the 28 people he killed, why did the last one have to be the only one that ever did something after their death?

The harsh thud of shoulders ramming into rotting wood reverberated in the space, and Ricky tried to cast a glance over his shoulder into the open space behind him. Time was running out. He needed to think of something. Anything. Anything at all would be great. 

Another thump, accompanied by the sharper sounds of internal splintering of wood. Ricky’s mind tore over every plan he ever made in hopes of somehow digging up one that would be useful.

A sickening snap cut through, allowing the outside rumbles of voices and blaring of sirens to invade the space, followed by the rush of footsteps filtering through. Ricky merely blinked, a revelation dawning.

Self-assured, the killer came to terms. The law closed in. He could hear them encroaching from every side. One body was drifting closer, as Ricky could only smirk. It might’ve been the end, but he wasn’t going out alone. 

The unsuspecting person strode through between columns, crouched down and gun aiming out. Upon crossing an unknown threshold, Ricky snapped an arm around the chest and used his knife hand to cut into the space between the protective vest and the helmet. It wasn’t quiet as the person gargled from a moment and dropped their gun onto the ground before actually dying. Shouts resounded around Ricky as he stood over his 29th kill. He could hear the guns cock, but he couldn’t care to look. He gave his vacant stare to the officer who lay on the ground, face first with a puddle of blackish crimson spilling out around them. Someone told him to put his hands up.

He wouldn’t. He was going out.

Another demand. Empty and useless to Goldsworth.

This was his final act. After all the preamble before.

They close in, and Ricky grips his trusty knife tighter.

After a plot twist that shook a stone-cold killer.

One shouts a command to the others, not meant for Ricky.

This was it.

Ricky Goldsworth lifted his head to meet the eyes of a grizzled woman and the eye of her pistol.

He was going to go out the way he wanted.

Shots rang out, but Ricky only felt one. 

\--

“I told you I’d see you in hell.”

“A neat trick, old sport! I’ll give you that.”

“At least you gave me one stab wound. You have 10 bullet holes in your body.”

“No big deal, Tinman! That’s what friends do… Right?”

“... Yeah. It is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading all the way to the end! it means a lot to me. Comments and kudos are always welcomed and fuel my motivation tanks! Thank you again, and stay healthy!


End file.
